


I'd Do Anything

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-02
Updated: 2007-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean's thoughts during All Hell Breaks Loose. Pretty angsty. Pre-Slash





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I hope y'all enjoy reading this. It literally took alot of my own blood and tears to get this out. My own brother died just last year, and he was my everything (no incest) and I would have gladly given my soul to the demon to bring him back. Please forgive me for any mistakes. It's only my second story in this fandom, and I was mostly venting my own angst into this story. It's not exactly slashy yet, but I'm planning to write another part, or parts, to this story after I watch a couple episodes of Season Three and get the flow from that.

  
Author's notes: major spoilage for all hell breaks loose.  


* * *

  
Dean couldn’t bear to lose his brother. He would do anything to bring the life back into Sam’s death stilled body, even if it meant giving up his own in exchange. There was no way he could live without Sammy beside him.

 

He had never realized before how much Sam meant to him. Sam was always his rock. He was the only one that Dean could talk to when life became too much to bare. He hated himself now for taking that for granted. He had always assumed that Sam would be there by his side, through thick and thin, like they had promised each other for the longest time. How could it possibly be any other way? They were brothers. They were practically joined at the hip for nearly the last year. For Sam to leave this way, it seemed so wrong. It was wrong. It was entirely Dean’s fault. 

 

If he hadn’t shown up when he did, Sam would have still been on alert, instead of heading towards him, not seeing the peril behind him. Even from where he stood, he could see the relief in Sam’s eyes when he had gotten close enough to see his brother. It was all his fault Sam was gone. He hadn’t been quick enough to warn Sam. If only he’d been quicker to warn Sam, to scream for his brother to look out. He truly hated himself for what he had done. He hadn’t been quick enough and now his own brother, his best friend in the entire world and probably his only friend, was dead because of him. God! If he’d only been a little faster or even slower, Sam would be standing next to him, instead of laying dead on a cot that was too small for Sam’s long broken body.

 

He had screamed forever, it seemed. He held his brother in his arms — one arm slipping down Sam’s back. He’d felt the blood then and knew it was bad. He just held on tighter, praying to any god that would listen that Sam would survive this somehow. He knew he couldn’t live without his brother. He didn’t want to live if it meant that Sam was dead. God, how he wished he could trade places with his brother! He was already supposed to be dead. It was the sacrifice of their father’s life that led to Dean being here at all. He had no say in the matter when his father made the deal with that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. If he had been left alone, lingering for even a moment more, he would have taken the reaper’s hand and he’d be gone from this world. He had no doubt of the pain that would have caused his brother and his father, even if his father would hide it like it didn’t exist. 

 

As it was, all Dean could do was sit beside Sam’s death bed and stare blankly with tears dripping down his cheeks unchecked, at his younger brother, taken way too soon. He told Sam stories of their childhood and cried over his brother’s broken body. He wanted to wrap Sam up in his arms again, even though the stiff coldness of his dead brother’s body against his would almost surely make him sick again. He’d vomited so much since his brother had died. He couldn’t stand to eat a single thing, not even a piece of toast or soup. Even when he didn’t have anything in his stomach, he still found himself bent over the toilet, heaving his stomach empty. It was all just stomach acid, alcohol, and dry heaves now. He hadn’t even attempted to eat after Sam had been lost to him, even when Bobby sat across from him, shoving food in front of his face and demanding he eat it. Dean pretended to eat, only shuffling the food around the plate and taking small spoonfuls to his mouth and returning them to the dish still holding the exact amount that it had held when he lifted it from whatever dish was forced in front of him. Instead, he drowned his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey.

 

Bobby wasn’t pleased. He was even half-convinced that Dean was eating. He kept pushing Dean to bury Sam’s body and move on. It was moments like that, when Dean hated Bobby the most. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Bobby was right, but he wasn’t ready to let go. He could never let go of his Sammy. As soon as Bobby would leave the room, Dean would be back at his place beside Sam’s bed, either holding his brother’s cold hand in his or laying his head upon the dingy mattress, not caring of the mostly dried blood that stuck to his face and hair. It was moments like this, when he felt the most alone, and he hated himself more than ever. He couldn’t stand to let Sam die.

 

It was in yet another self-loathing moment that he remembered. The crossroad demon. He could make a deal. Sam wouldn’t even have to know that he had ever died. He could do this. He could definitely do this. He had to have his brother back. He would gladly trade his life for his brother’s.

 

 

When he arrived at the crossroads, at first the demon didn’t seem to show. It took a minute before he heard a soft voice mocking him from behind. He offered himself for Sam and ten years. The demon had laughed at him. It was then that his confidence in his place was shaken. He bargained. 8 years, 6… Finally, he said “Five years or no deal” and the demon shook her head, practically laughing at him. It was one year or nothing, and if he tried to break the deal, Sam would drop dead like the worm-meat that he was supposed to be. Dean had no intention of trying to break the deal. He would be getting Sam back. He was fighting tears, steeling his reserve as he pressed the demon’s lips to his to seal the deal. He had one year and Sammy had his life back.

 

He rushed back to Sam, like Hell itself was on his heels. He could barely contain himself when he arrived back at the shack that he had laid Sam in and saw Sam standing on his own, like nothing had ever happened. It was like he hadn’t died at all, other than the pain in his back where the knife had cut him through. It was in that moment of seeing his little brother alive and well, that he let go and wrapped his arms around Sam, squeezing tight. Tighter than he should have, because Sam immediately let him know that he was in pain. He dodged Sam’s questions like a pro, telling his younger brother that he’d been stabbed but Bobby had been able to patch him up because it was beyond Dean’s expertise. 

 

Dean was just glad to have his Sammy back. Screw the cost! Sam was worth it. 

 

And when they showed up at Bobby’s and Bobby immediately dragged Dean out into the scrap yard and screamed at him, Dean welcomed it. He only begged Bobby and forced him to promise not to tell Sam that he’d died, or of the deal that Dean had made. He would take whatever punishment could be dealt towards him, as long as Sam was with him again.

 

Later, at the cemetery, when Sam didn’t hesitate to shoot Jake multiple times, Dean should have felt the fear that Bobby was certainly feeling, staring at Sam like he was a hell spawn, but all he could feel in that moment was pride. He was proud that Sam had killed that bastard and more than proud that Sam took no mercy in doing it, even though the look in Sam’s eyes as he pulled the trigger multiple times, sent shivers up and down Dean’s spine. It chilled him to the core, but he was still so damn proud of his brother that he pushed those feelings aside, even as the yellow-eyed demon taunted him, teasing him about how much of what he’d brought back was really Sam and thanking him because demons couldn’t resurrect someone without a deal being made. “You of all people should know that what’s dead should stay dead,” the demon had the tenacity to say. Like he would ever leave Sam dead.

 

It was with great pleasure that he pulled the trigger on the colt and shot the son of a bitch. Sam was suddenly beside him, at a loss for words. This had been their goal for as long as they could remember. Now that it was over, he felt less than he thought he would. 

 

Sam turned to him at a loss for words, but Dean knew exactly what to say.

 

“That was for our mom, you son of a bitch.”

 


End file.
